


Don't Fear the Reaper

by McKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve, and Remus finds himself with an unexpected companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> Written for dearsanta 2006.

It was too much solitude and champagne that drove Remus to chat up Death. He knew it was a stupid thing to do even as he did it, but he had been alone for far too long, and he was ready to put an end to his isolation, even if it was only for one night.

By rights, he should have been in attendance with Tonks. She was there, just not with him, and he thought he had spotted her a few times, not because he recognized her in the sea of masked faces, but because Kingsley was rather unmistakable a figure, especially in a Captain Hook costume. It was the last year of the war that had done it. Remus had been away, spending far more time with the werewolves than with her in his attempts to glean information that might be helpful for the Order and to chip away at the werewolves' loyalty to Greyback. Kingsley had been there, and in the end, absence had made her heart grow forgetful rather than fonder.

More than once over the course of the evening, Remus had moved towards the exit of the grand ballroom, intending to go home, but each time, he had lingered and then turned back. Nothing awaited him in the tiny flat but an evening spent rattling around by himself amid the Christmas decorations he hadn't got around to taking down yet. He had started to wonder if perhaps it was worse being alone in a vast crowd such as this one than alone at home when Death had caught his eye.

A solitary, black-clad figure standing off to one side - alone, just like him. Whoever was wearing the costume had gone to a lot of trouble either to make the costume impressive or to make certain he wasn't recognized, because the hand curled around the scythe looked skeletal, and when Remus caught a glimpse of what was hidden beneath the hood, all he saw was a grinning skull. Perhaps the costume was meant to be off-putting; certainly most of the other guests were giving Death a wide berth.

Perhaps it was meant to be a statement. The death of the old year, which had brought about the end of the war and of Voldemort, was nigh, and this party was meant to be a celebration of the new year and the new beginnings it offered. But even in the midst of such revelry - all the more sumptuous for being funded by the Ministry - there was sadness born of empty holes burnt into the fabric of their lives by the casualties of war. And there was Death.

As he drew closer, Remus noticed Death was about his height or a little taller, but not much, and he couldn't quite repress a shiver that rose from his primal core when that hooded head turned toward him and the empty eye sockets seemed to focus on him. Staring into the face of Death was unnerving, even in this context, but Remus wasn't afraid of the reaper, neither the literal nor figurative one.

"It's almost midnight," he said conversationally, offering a friendly smile. His own costume wasn't technically a costume, since the Highlander regalia - kilt, sporran, and all - had been his father's, but he had donned it as a nod of respect to his heritage and added a black half-mask as a nod to the occasion. Still, he knew it wasn't difficult to identify him, thus Death ought to recognize him if they knew each other.

"So it is." Death's voice was quiet and deep, and Remus listened intently, the sound of it skirting on the edge of his memory, but he couldn't place it. It was just different enough from anyone he could remember to elude him. Perhaps Death had modulated his voice as well.

"Are you planning to administer the kiss of Death?" Remus asked, sounding more playful than he felt.

Death tilted his head as if regarding Remus quizzically. "Are you volunteering to receive it?"

Well, that was straight to the point. Remus stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the forthrightness. Did he want to kiss a stranger? A strange man, no less?

"Yes." The word was out of his mouth before he fully realized he intended to agree, and he straightened his spine as he awaited Death's acceptance or refusal. He wasn't inexperienced with men, and he wanted to be with someone different, someone nothing at all like her.

Death reached out and curled his bony fingers around Remus', and Remus glanced down, disoriented by the incongruity between the skeletal hand he saw and the warm skin he felt. _How appropriate_ , he thought as he tightened his hold, _that Death's hands should be warm._

 _"Shall we administer this kiss somewhere more private?" Death asked, and Remus felt his heart start to race._

 _"It isn't midnight yet." His voice sounded a little breathless to his own ears, but he didn't care. This was the most exciting, _positive_ thing that had happened to him in a long time, and for once, he intended to throw caution to the wind._

"I'm certain we can find a way to occupy our time, Remus."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Remus said, hoping to prompt an introduction now that he knew Death did recognize him.

There was a creak of bone, as if Death had smiled. "Good." With that, he tugged Remus' hand, leading him out of the ballroom and away from the milling throng of people.

The sounds of the band and the loud hum generated by the blending of a hundred different conversations faded as they made their way along the corridor, their footsteps ringing on the marble floor. When they reached an alcove partially obscured by a tall potted tree, Death steered him into it and pushed him against the wall, making him gasp at the unexpected impact. He stared into Death's face, squinting as he tried to catch any glimpse of human flesh beneath the bleached bone, but the illusion was impenetrable.

"Why me?" Death leaned close until Remus could feel hot breath ghosting against his cheek. "You were with a woman."

"How could I resist the temptation to court Death?" Remus reached up to touch Death's face, wanting to reassure himself there was a flesh and blood human under those black robes. He traced the high cheekbones he found with his thumbs, relieved to feel skin beneath his hands when his eyes told him he was caressing a skull. "I don't care that you're a man. I don't care who you are."

"You say that now."

"I don't care," Remus insisted, forcing Death to look at him and see the truth in his eyes. "I'm tired of being careful and playing it safe. I'm tired of restrictions and laws and fear. I'm tired of my life the way it is, and for one night - just _one night_ \- I want to do what I want to do, be damned to everyone else."

There was a pause, although Remus couldn't tell if his words had been shocking or if Death was mulling over what he had said. But then Death closed the distance between them, and just before their mouths met, he felt words against his lips. "It's about damned time."

A whimper rose in Remus' throat as Death coaxed Remus' lips apart and slipped his tongue past them, and Remus wound his arms around Death's shoulders, finding them narrow and bony; he wondered if that was part of the illusion or if that was how they really felt. He didn't wonder long, all curiosity swept away when Death hiked up his kilt; his soft whimpers escalated into moans as Death began stroking his cock. He had begun growing hard before Death had touched him, and it didn't take long for Death to fist him to full hardness, making him rock his hips mindlessly, seeking more from those warm fingers.

He gave a wordless protest when Death broke away from the kiss, and for a moment, he was afraid Death might stop, but then Death went to his knees at Remus' feet and pushed his kilt up, bunching it around his hips, and Remus' breath stuttered in his throat at the realization of what Death was about to do. He rested one hand on the back of Death's hood, not pushing or guiding, just wanting to touch, and he obligingly reached for the hem of his kilt, holding up one side.

"Lucky for me you are a traditionalist." There was amusement in Death's voice, but it wasn't mocking, and Remus relaxed enough to grin.

"My ancestors would have risen up to haunt me if I'd gone any other way."

Death glanced up at him. "This isn't merely a costume, then?" He sounded surprised, and Remus shook his head, pleased to know Death didn't know everything about him. Not that many people knew about his ancestry anyway. It wasn't something that came up; more people cared about his lycanthropy than his genealogy.

But then there was a warm, wet (albeit invisible) tongue sliding along the underside of his cock, and he let his head fall back against the wall with a moan, no longer caring about anything but that tongue and the hot, sucking mouth engulfing his cock. Death had definitely done this before. He felt Death's hand sliding along his bare thigh, and he shivered at the caress, spreading his feet wider apart as Death moved his hand up to cup and knead Remus' balls. How long had it been since anyone had touched him, much less touched him like this? Whoever this was knew him but didn't care what he was, and for that alone, he was prepared to put himself in Death's hands entirely.

Tension coiled low in his belly, winding tighter and tighter at Death's merciless sensual onslaught. Death seemed to take pleasure in lapping up the fluid leaking from his cock as if savoring Remus' taste, and Death brought Remus to the edge, making him hover there again and again before backing off until Remus was begging for release, the pleading words a low, breathless chant. Suddenly, Death drew him in deep, sucking hard, and Remus groaned with relief, sensing that this time, he would be granted mercy, and he fought to keep from rocking his hips - until Death grasped his hip and nudged him, a silent assent. Remus accepted immediately, giving in to the need to thrust into that welcoming mouth. He was careful, but just being able to move was a relief, and his fingers tightened in the back of Death's hood as his pleasure spiraled out of control, and he cried out, finding exquisite bliss in coming down Death's throat.

When Death rose to his feet, Remus captured his face in both hands and hauled him into a desperate, greedy kiss, thrusting his tongue between Death's lips in his eagerness to taste himself in Death's mouth. Death slid both arms around his waist and pressed against him, and he could feel Death's erection straining between them.

"What do you want?" Remus asked, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"What will you allow?"

"Anything."

Death swooped close, his voice deep and ragged with need, and the sound of it made heat explode in Remus' belly anew. "I want to fuck you."

Remus wasted no time in turning within Death's embrace and flattening his palms against the wall, spreading his legs again and pushing his hips back, grinding his arse against Death's groin provocatively. "Then do it."

Scarcely had the words left his mouth when Death drew his wand and conjured a vial of sweet-smelling oil, and Remus leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall and listened to the rustle of fabric as Death shifted his robes and possibly underpants out of the way to prepare himself. Then his kilt was being lifted and bunched again, and he felt the blunt nudge of Death's cock against his entrance. He drew in a breath and pushed out as Death pushed in, trying to ease his passage, and he groaned at the slick slide of Death's thick cock inside him, making him feel so full and tight and _alive_.

Then Death was moving, thrusting deep, his hips slapping against Remus' arse in a rough, fast rhythm, and Remus closed his eyes, panting, wanting to savor every second. Death clutched Remus' hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to hurt; Remus would probably have bruises, but he didn't care. It had been so long, and it felt so _good_ being touched, being fucked, being _wanted_ again. Death clamped his teeth on Remus' shoulder, muffling his cry as he thrust hard one last time, burying himself deep within Remus as he came, and Remus let out a soft cry as well, shuddering with pleasure-pain at the bite.

A soft noise of regret escaped him as Death pulled out and moved away, drawing his wand again to clean them both up. Reluctantly, Remus turned around and straightened his clothes, drawing his own wand to steam the wrinkles out so he didn't look quite so much as if he had slipped away from the party for a quick shag. The sounds of the ballroom reached them, faint in the distance but growing louder as the crowd roared a countdown.

"TEN... NINE... EIGHT!"

Death pulled Remus into an embrace, closing the distance between them and capturing Remus' mouth in a kiss that was lingering, even tender.

"SEVEN... SIX... FIVE!"

Remus wound his arms around Death's neck and parted his lips, arching against Death and surrendering his mouth, yielding to the kiss - to Death - completely.

"FOUR... THREE... TWO!"

Death moaned softly and clutched Remus tighter, clinging to him as if somehow he was as touch-starved as Remus.

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Remus continued kissing Death at a leisurely pace, tasting and exploring, enjoying the moment, and when he pulled back at last, he smiled, feeling utterly content.

Until he saw the illusion had faded, and Severus Snape was gazing at him from beneath Death's hood.

"It was one of those glamors that end at midnight," Severus explained, sounding quiet, almost subdued. "Like in fairy tales." He paused, his lips twisting into a bitter line. "You'll be making a comment about kissing frogs now, I suppose."

Remus shook his head, too stunned to speak. His tender mystery lover had been _Snape_? Trying to blend the two identities was too much for his mind, and it shut down in a crackle of static, overloaded by the attempt. "Why me?" he whispered, echoing Severus' question. "Was this a prank? Revenge? You'll have a good laugh, I imagine," he said, a trace of bitterness in his own voice. It figured that the one good thing that had happened to him in ages would end up destroyed, just like everything else in his life.

"I didn't plan this," Severus replied, his brows drawing together in a scowl. "You approached me, remember?"

Remus felt a rush of heat in his face, and he nodded. "You could have said no."

"I didn't want to."

Remus boggled at him for a moment, trying to process that remark. Severus hadn't wanted to say no? But that implied he desired Remus, which couldn't possibly be true. "But I thought you didn't like me," he blurted. "I thought you were disgusted by me because I'm a werewolf."

"Do you think I would have gone to my knees to bring you off if I were disgusted?" Severus shot him a look of pure Snapean impatience, a familiar touchstone that - oddly enough - helped Remus to relax again. "I've carried many secrets for a long time, Lupin. Not all of them involved the wars." He glanced sidelong at Remus from beneath his lashes, an oddly vulnerable gesture. "You said you didn't care who I was."

"I didn't," Remus replied, realizing the truth of the words as soon as he spoke them. "I don't." He tightened his arms around Severus, pulling him closer. "I'd like to do it again."

" _Now_?" Severus' expression turned scandalized, and Remus laughed.

"No, somewhere more comfortable where we can dispense with clothes entirely."

"Ah." Severus nodded, seeming to approve of that idea. "My place or yours?"

"How big is your bed?"

"Quite big. Why?"

"Your place, then. Mine's small, and I think we're going to need lots of room to wallow in."

"We might at that." Severus stepped away from him and gestured for Remus to precede him out of the alcove. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Remus walked beside Severus in companionable silence, but once they reached the exit, he grasped Severus' arm, stopping him. Leaning close, he brushed his lips against Severus in a light but lingering kiss, and when he pulled back, he offered an affectionate smile. "Happy new year, Severus."

"At least it can't be worse than the old one," Severus grumbled.

"We're bringing it in with shagging," Remus pointed out. "I think that's an auspicious omen for the year to come." He grinned. "So to speak."

Severus merely rolled his eyes and turned back to the exit, but Remus didn't mind, following Severus out of the building and sliding his arm around Severus' waist for a side-along Apparation to wherever it was that Severus lived now. Perhaps this was meant to be merely a one night stand; perhaps it would turn into something more. Remus didn't know what the future held, but right now, he had companionship and shagging to look forward to, and he wouldn't have to go home to his empty flat.

That alone made the new year far better than the old, and whatever lay in store during the coming months, Remus would remember this as the best New Year's Eve of his life.


End file.
